


naked (you are as simple as one of your hands)

by daleked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breasts, Futalock, Lingerie model AU, M/M, Masturbation, Omega!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/pseuds/daleked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>John looks through the rack of lingerie they've given him to model for the day. There are some chaste pieces, of course, but the naughty ones are daring and he can swear his nipples will be visible in at least one picture.</em><br/> </p><p>Omega!John used to be a lingerie model, but those days are over. Enter his current flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, who finds an old catalogue from John's modelling days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a bit of fun but turned into something more. No, it's not a one-night stand, it's just futalock, which basically involves slapping breasts on Sherlock characters. This one just has John with tits, what with him being an omega and all, but don't worry. More will come soon. The [reference](http://www.laperla.com/en-gb/outlet/new/cfilpd0014230?e=&f-size=&f-style=&f-variant=&s=relevance&keyword=garter%20belt&resultcount=0) for the set described in the first chapter can be found here.
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to the following sweeties that helped me along-- Ori, both Megs, Zasha, Aiwa and Kami. You guys, this is for you.

John looks through the rack of lingerie they've given him to model for the day. There are some chaste pieces, of course, but the naughty ones are daring and he can swear his nipples will be visible in at least one picture.

'Babydolls first,' Bill calls. 'Then lunch, and we'll wrap up just before tea. My missus is expecting me at Fortnum's for dinner.' John takes the three baby doll dresses off the rack and into the changing room. He puts them on and adjusts the straps so that his breasts sit higher, the inner lining of the cups smooth against his skin. The first one is white, presumably for a bridal collection-- the cup itself is sheer and the lace patterns allow spaces for a naughty wink of skin, but nothing more. Chiffon sprouts from the bra, just under his breasts, light and flowing. The scallop lace hem of the dress skims his thigh and the briefs provided are seamless and silky. John shivers. The heating isn't turned up high enough, and spring is still biting.

'Ready?' Bill calls.

'Yes,' John says, and goes to makeup. They give him a little white cape of silk and drape it over his shoulders before crowning him with a band of pale pink roses. John feels like an omega in a dream wedding photoshoot as he is directed to lay down on the four-poster bed, worn velvet rubbing against his arse. The chiffon billows when he sits and the silk puddles around him, and Bill gives him a thumbs up.

'Come on, then, Watson,' Bill says, and taps the camera. 'Give us that lovely virginal look.' John obliges.

+

It's the last outfit of the day. John lounges on a daybed and tries to look comfortable, but he's hungry and tired of being touched up. Makeup artists brush pearlescent powder over his breasts and neck while carefully applying blush and dark brown to his cleavage, emphasising the swell and shadow. John squirms under the ticklish brush and they smile at him.

'Hoist them up a bit, yes, that's right, dear. You look very lovely. A darling omega kitted out for his alpha.' John blushes as an assistant pulls on the straps of his bra to make his chest look perkier and fuller. He gives an experimental jiggle and his breasts practically bounce. Excellent support, then. This last set is delicate and beautiful, all plumetis tulle and lace and cream piping. A flat white strap forms the suspender belt, from which the fabric stretches down before thinning into straps to cling to the sheer nude stockings. The tulle parts in the middle below his bellybutton, showing off the matching underwear. The fabric against his cock is almost erotic. John decides this is his favourite outfit of the day.

'Come on now, John.' Bill takes a few test shots while John stretches on the daybed, and hums while he looks them over.

'Let's make this a good one. Think of an alpha, I suppose.' And John does. He thinks of Janet from Business Law and her dark hair, endless legs and heavy cock to fuck him with in heat, and arches his back and neck in the natural omega submissive pose. She'd probably knot him well, pushing him down and groping his breasts to play with his nipples.

'Hold it there!' Bill fires off a series of rapid shots and claps twice, signalling that the shoot is over. It's a wrap.

'Amazing pose!' A makeup artist says admiringly. 'If I were an alpha I would have bred you there and then.' John can feel himself flush at the compliment.

'Thank you,' he says, and fiddles with the fastenings on the belt. 'A little help?'

'Oh, yes, right.' John heaves a sigh of relief as he undresses. There are no alphas at lingerie shoots-- not this one, anyway. This company is known for hiring omegas-only to make the workplace safer for their workers. It's a great part time job, and it allows time for studying and pays well. John stretches when he's fully naked and smiles shyly at the elderly omega helper that comes over with his clothes. 'Hello, Jessie!'

'When I was your age...' Jessie says, handing him his plain pants and bra. 'If I had a body like yours I wouldn't be hanging around with farts like me. I'd be having alphas drooling over my pert little arse.' The set assistants giggle and John puts on his clothes quicker than he usually would.

'I'm not looking for an alpha right now,' John deflects. 'Studies first.'

'These modern omegas,' Jessie tuts, removing John's makeup while he fastens his trousers. 'So forward-thinking. What clever cubs you'll have!' John tries to smile at her words, he really does, but it feels more like a rictus grin. In the past few months, his previous shoots were released to the public (including a rather tame one of him in a bandeau bra that featured heavily on ads in tube stations) and and John's had more than one male alpha attempt to feel him up in public. Honestly, alphas. They thought with their knots.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which Sherlock makes a startling discovery. And jerks off.
> 
> Please note that the rating has gone up. You dirty dogs.

'No,' John hisses. 'We are not going in there yet.'

'We'll be quiet,' Sherlock whispers. 'Come _on_.'

'Lestrade said to wait for him!' Sherlock makes a face and starts picking the lock. John sighs and crouches lower against the wall, watching as Sherlock rotates the two slim picks inside the keyhole. The night air is crisp and their breaths come out in puffs. John checks his watch-- 11pm. Lestrade is supposed to be coming with a fleet of police cars to subdue this man, and they've turned their sirens off to avoid alerting him. It's been five minutes since he said he was on his way and Sherlock is, predictably, itching to make a move.

'Got it,' Sherlock says. The door swings open slightly and John peers in. Total darkness. Great. Sherlock opens the door and creeps in, John following cautiously and wishing he had his gun. Everything looks neat and fairly normal, but they've seen what he did to his five omega victims. There's a sixth somewhere inside the house. Sherlock had lectured him on their way over about the killer's type. Blond omegas that the alpha stakes out at the lingerie shop he works at as an assistant.

'Pity you don't fit the bill,' Sherlock had said critically, and John had ducked his head to hide his blush. Those days were long behind him, and presumably Sherlock didn't know about them. Or if he did, he was discreet not enough to bring them up.

John knows that Mycroft and his assistant know, though. He'd realised it during the third kidnapping when Talullah glanced at his chest and smiled faintly before meeting his gaze steadily without comment. He had stayed silent the whole trip after.

'Second bedroom,' Sherlock mutters. They try to creep silently up the stairs, and apart from the occasional creak, it goes well. They've just reached the landing when they hear muffled cries. Sherlock gestures to John and he follows, the both of them stopping in front of a door where the sounds are coming from.

'Go!' John kicks the door down and they rush in.

 

+

 

'You always arrive late,' Sherlock says petulantly. He'd sustained a gash to the arm during the scuffle and he's sulking while a paramedic patches him up. John is getting checked up by another paramedic after hitting his head when the alpha killer had pushed him against the wall. Lestrade stands with his hands on his hips in front of the both of them.

'That was reckless!' Lestrade scolds. 'You could have been killed! John!'

'Couldn't let him go in alone, could I?' John says quietly. Sherlock glances at him before turning back to Lestrade.

'I'll give you the report tomorrow. John, we're going home.' John looks at Sherlock and sees a bulge inside his coat. Oh god, not more evidence. There really isn't any reason for Sherlock to hang onto anything from this case, considering the fact that it's over. As they walk, John decides not to ask him about it. He really doesn't want to know.

 

+

 

When John is in bed, Sherlock locks himself in his room and takes out the glossy papers he'd stolen from the murderer's house. They had caught his eye after the fight was over, and he'd taken them before tending to John. Despite popular belief that omegas are weak, John can hold his own (as well as Sherlock's) in a fight. Sherlock spreads them out on his bed and looks for the particular model that caught his eye. Ah, there. Blond, head tilted to the right with his shoulder hitched higher on that side as well. A male omega in a barley-coloured translucent robe with kimono sleeves modestly draped over his thighs, smiling innocently at the camera. 

It's John.

Beautiful and trim, flesh taut with youth, then-John smiles up through the years and paper at Sherlock. His breasts-- Sherlock would be lying if he said he hadn't given John's breasts much thought before, he won't deny it, they really are quite lovely-- are pushed up in a cream bra that darkens to yellow at the top of the cups. The effect is lovely against John's tanned skin, and Sherlock can feel his cock hardening against his thigh. _Just transport_ , he reminds himself, but his erection is persistent this time. Sherlock takes himself in hand and strokes once, twice. Imagines John in a set of fancy lingerie. To his surprise, it's not John from the catalogue but his flatmate, the one sleeping upstairs right now, that appears in his mind's eye. John's belly is slightly pudgy and bulges over the tight suspenders, and he's shying away from Sherlock's gaze. John's legs fall open and he attempts to cover himself up.

'I'm not dressed,' the John in his mind demurs, and his chest heaves. Sherlock imagines walking over and undoing his bra, letting John's breasts free, reaching up to fondle them and brush a thumb over his nipple. John inhales at his touch and Sherlock can clearly imagine John getting hard in the pretty but vastly impractical underwear he is depicted wearing. The tip of John's cock peeks out shyly over the band and John brings his hands up to place on Sherlock's bulge.

The fantasy is cut short when Sherlock comes all over himself, his breathing rapid and his brow damp with sweat. There is a lingering sense of guilt that Sherlock washes away when he gets up to clean himself off. It's just a one-off thing, he tells his cock firmly. It stays where it is, limp but smug.

'Damn,' Sherlock says to his room, and falls asleep shortly after.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought of this.


End file.
